The LA Experience
by raedbard
Summary: Season 23: pre'Anne': As if running away wasn't enough, a zombie, a sinister apartment supervisor and a visit from an old Sunnydale friend make Buffy's trip to LA even more enjoyable.Based loosely on the M. R. James ghost story 'Number 13' and forming the


Author: Raedbard  
Rating: PG  
Characters: Buffy and Ethan, friendship. Kinda.  
Timeline: Season 3, a couple of days before 'Anne'.  
Summary: As if running away wasn't enough, a zombie, a sinister apartment supervisor and a visit from an old Sunnydale friend make Buffy's trip to LA even more enjoyable.

THE L.A. EXPERIENCE

It's okay, she tells herself. Really it is. What's not to love about the apartment, the very last on her very short list of affordable property reasonably close to the diner job that's putting her through this LA experience. It's...almost clean, with a fresh-from-the-sidewalk scent and very fetching kitchen units. And the beige goes really well with the waitress outfit.

But it's hers, and it's away, which seems more important right now. And this is life now - bad uniforms, greasy pie and this apartment. She aches from trying to make the best of it and besides she's starting to seriously crave some Ben&Jerry's - an integral part of the Buffy Summers patented problem purger. Ice cream and TV: definitely the key to making this particular night of the LA Magical Mystery Tour a serious hit. If she could actually get the TV to work that is. Maybe time to try the apartment Super. again.

She gives an involuntary shiver. That guy makes her slayer sense way twitchy. Even without the BO and the worrying and deeply unfashionable monkeywrench accessory he always carries around, there is something seriously off with him. She shrugs. So long as he stays away, everything'll be just peachy. With a side of keen.

When she eventually caves and admits to herself that excitement has no part in tonight's events, bed seems like the only way to go. She actually likes the bed, or at least, more than she does the rest of the apartment. It's plain and warm and next to the window, which is high enough for her to see the sky - definitely the best part of the view - when she wakes. So she snuggles with the bed and tries not to think too much. In minutes she's dreaming.

_She stands on a balcony: blue skies far above the city, if she reached out she could surely touch the clouds. She feels him standing there before he reaches out. She smiles when his hand takes hers. He's warm in this dream, and even in sleep she knows there's something wrong..._

"...There's more than just that."

"Don't. Don't spoil it."

"You have to be careful."

"I am, always."

"Not enough. There's something you're not seeing."

  
She wakes with a jolt. As she looks around the apartment bleary-eyed, before turning over and trying for sleep again, this time of the dreamless variety, Buffy squints at the far end of the room through the arch which leads to the kitchen. It seems too dark in there; there's no shine coming off the stove where the light hits it coming in from the kitchen window. She looks out of her own window - no moon. She sighs and  
shakes her head: dumb. Then she falls asleep.

The next day runs as they always do: the waitress uniform earns her a few lecherous glances from the patrons, which is always the exact opposite of flattering and, later, she manages to spill half of the sugar for the table dispensers all over the counter. And this is exactly the moment when another subscriber to 'Jailbait Monthly' decides to try their charms out on her.

"Excuse me, I couldn't help noticing that you've had a small accident. Could I be of any assistance?"

Without looking up she says, "No, thanks. I've got it."

"Oh, are you sure? I would really like to help you..."

"Listen, sir, this is something I do everyday, so-"

At this point she does look up, ready to fix this loser with her most unforgiving glare. She really didn't expect to dislike what she sees quite as much as this though.

"Buffy, so lovely to see you."

"Ethan Rayne. _What_ are you doing here?"

"Well, LA, land of opportunity." He gives her that certain smile, the one that says, 'I know, but you must like me just a little bit?'

"Yeah, well, I'd suggest that you move on to another _opportunity_. Right now."

"Erm, yes. Could I ask that you not beat me up? It's just that this is a new shirt that I'm already rather fond-"

"Ethan, just go."

He went, and a good thing too. Chalk up another name for the 'just stay away from me' list. And wouldn't it just be her luck if the slimy little joker was...

"...In the apartment next to mine, I knew it!"

Ethan, it seemed, was just going out; Buffy was just coming in, feeling greasy, slightly depressed and, now, in need of something to pummel.

"Buffy! Twice in one day - we must stop meeting like this."

"That'd really suit me."

"I'd invite you round for coffee or something, but-"

"You know I'd break your nose."

"Exactly." He smiles, well, almost. "Sleep tight."

"With a stake by my bed."

"Oh, Buffy. So harsh." He turns to leave, "I'll be seeing you."

"Really not if I see you first," she says, slamming the door in Ethan's face.

_This time it's dark on the balcony. As she looks across at the next apartment along from hers, she sees a dim red light glowing behind the next-door apartment windows. When she turns it's not Angel standing there but Ethan, smiling at her as he had that evening and holding out his hand._

"I think we should try to do something about that noise."

"What...what noise?"

As she listens, Buffy starts to become aware of a high screeching laughter coming across to her from next door. It drifts slowly in the night air, chilling her.

Ethan smiles again, "That noise."

"But, isn't that coming from your apartment?"

Ethan just shakes his head.

  
This time she wakes with all her senses tingling. She checks the window and again, there's no moon. Over in the kitchen everything is dark as before and looking around and even without much light except the yellow glow from the street, Buffy feels like the place is smaller. She frowns and sits up in bed, listening. After a minute where she there seems to be nothing but her own breathing and the beat of her heart, she thinks she can hear a thin screaming sound, just loud enough for her to perceive.

"Okay, this is so not what I need right now," she mutters to the empty apartment. "But, since I'm here..."

In the semi-darkness she moves around the room, trying to figure out if what she feels is different actually is the case. As she gets to the place where the arch through to kitchen should have been she feels her question has probably been answered. There's no arch, and no kitchen. And, as she bends her head closer to the wall she realises, the sound is louder at this end of the apartment.

Thanking god that the door is still where it should be, she goes out into the hall, wedging the door with a discarded shoe. "And that'd better still be here when I get back 'cause those were _not_ cheap."

Out in the hall it's even darker, but as her eyes adjust Buffy notices a slight reddish glow coming from underneath the door of the apartment next to hers.

"Before you hammer on my door I should let you know, that's not my apartment."

"Ethan. Again. _How_ can it not be your apartment? I saw you coming out of it like five hours ago!"

"Well, as I said I'd invite you over but I like my nose the way it is."

"Okay, show me."

Buffy grimaces as she peers into Ethan's place, trying to avoid looking at the bed. But she sighs as she notices that he doesn't seem to have a kitchen either. Out in the hall she double-checks and he's right: there's one more apartment between her own and Ethan's.

"So, what have you been up to? What nasty little spells have you been practicing in there?"

"I've been out all night, I only just got back. I'm as in the dark as you."

"'In the dark' is right. Okay, much as it causes me pain to actually say these words, I think we should probably try to, you know - work _together_ on this."

"Buffy, I'm so flattered."

"Don't push it. I'm sure there are loads of shirts in there that I could get your blood all over."

"I'm sure. So, what shall we do?"

"Well, I'd kinda like to know what's behind this doo-"

For the second time that day some creep interrupts her in the middle of a sentence. This time, instead of Ethan, who's done a quick sidestep behind her so he can cower in peace, it's the apartment Super, looking even worse than normal. He's walking with a slow, shaky gait kinda like a, like a...

She turns to Ethan, "You think that guy's a zombie?"

"Er, yes, I think you might have a point there."

"So, got any weapons in your place?"

"A mini blowtorch, very useful for creme brulee."

Buffy rolls her eyes. "I can work with that. Go get it for me."

The zombie-Super is still advancing, albeit very slowly but Buffy really doesn't want to get locked in an apartment with an angry zombie banging on the door with his monkeywrench demanding his holiday tip six months early.

"Ethan, where's that torch?"

"Here. Deodorant?"

"What? Oh, right - good thinking," she admits as she positions the spraycan behind the chef's blowtorch. She tests it out once and then aims it at the Super.

"I'm really sorry about this, Mr. Wachalowski!"

The zombie stops as the fire wall hits him. Buffy thinks she sees him squint at her with a quizzical expression, as if to say, "Hey, lady, how come you're picking on me?" But then he turns to something that looks like dust but smells much worse. She doesn't investigate.

"I guess that's our deposits out the window."

"And we're still stuck with the problem of where our kitchens went to."

"Which begs the question: don't you keep your chef's blowtorch in your kitchen, Ethan?"

"Well, no. They're useful for magicks too."

"Right, of course."

"But, er - Buffy, I don't think we should worry about the kitchens too much." Ethan points at the wall: there are now two doors where there were three less than five minutes ago.

"So, kill the zombie, lose the extra apartment. Works for me."

But it's obvious to both of them that they should dig a little deeper into this whole thing and in the end that's exactly what they end up doing. Ethan suggests that they look under the floorboards nearest the walls which had joined onto the phantom apartment and after Buffy had cuffed him round the head she realised that, since they'd pretty much have to move anyway, they could afford to make a mess.

Under the boards on Ethan's side they find a little box with some very old and musty-smelling paper. It had some very spidery writing covering it which Buffy couldn't read.

"Any chance that your misspent youth, and your misspent adulthood, actually...could come in handy here?"

"If you mean 'can I read it?' then you're in luck. It's actually Latin in Ancient Greek script. Classy."

"So what's it say?"

"I think the Super sold his soul to a demon."

"Let me guess: there was a zombie clause somewhere in the smallprint?"

"Seems so."

"I knew there was something off with that guy."

Ethan shrugs, "I think it may be a common problem among people like him." He smiles at her and, against her better judgement, Buffy returns it.

"Buffy, if I ask if you'd like to go for coffee, do I lose any important body parts?"

"Nah, I'll let you off this time. You're ugly enough."

"Well, thank you. Shall we then?"

"We shall, then." She smiles and makes a mental note to look for the early editions of the papers. She has to go apartment hunting again.


End file.
